Fine Dining
by Rogue Leader
Summary: Wedge and Tycho review a restaurant. My 2009 Rogues/Wraiths Fic-a-Thon entry. The prompts were 'Tauntaun', 'enthusiasm', and 'challenge'


The restaurant was a new one on-planet which made it the trendy new hot-spot for Coruscant's elite. Located on one of the highest skyhook positions available, it boasted five levels of fine-dining, along with a weather-controlled penthouse-esque bar and patio. The decor was definite pre-Clone Wars Old Republic; the colonnade designs and the trellised flora were reminiscent of the Old Republic exhibit at the Galactic Museum. The low, dusky lighting imitated candle glow, as if the archaic light source were somehow more suited to the classy atmosphere being rendered by the ornate-yet-simplistic architecture and deep rose-coloured redwood tables with matching plush, nerf-hide redwood chairs. The staff was equally elegant as everyone, from the Twi'lek Matre D' right down to the busbeings, was decked out in the finest of haute couture. Service seemed to be brisk, yet attentive, with the perfect balance between customers being doted on by the server and being given the utmost privacy. All in all, the visual presentation was outstanding, to say the least. How Wedge had managed to get reservations boggled Tycho. He supposed that it was one of the many perks of having a fiance in New Republic Intelligence.

He, Winter, Wedge and Iella were outfitted well to suit the occasion, and the two pilots finally managed to blend in for once, thanks to the finely cut black suits they each sported. Where Wedge's shirt and cufflinks were traditional white and diamond, Tycho had opted for a deep purple and a dark amethyst. Their footwear consisted of matte black dress shoes, which felt odd after wearing military boots all day.

The girls were resplendent in shimmersilk. Iella's gown was a coral white with iridescent pearl filaments woven throughout the fabric, matching perfectly with her date's attire. The collar of the dress wrapped around her throat delicately, leaving her shoulders bare until the sleeves began just under her arms and tapered to a point just atop her knuckles and circling her wrist underneath. The line of the bodice across her back was tucked under her arms as well, leaving shoulder-blades free of fabric and attaching the sleeves to the rest of the garment. The rest of the dress was close-cut, contouring with Iella's body and leaving little play between silk and skin as the hemline brushed her bare ankles. The pearl white heels encased her feet with clear straps, offering a contrast to the filaments of the dress. Her hair was pulled into a sweeping up-do and pinned in place with a diamond-studded clip that caught the tender light of the room in its grasp and redistributed it as fragile rainbows, giving the Intel Officer an angelic halo whenever she turned her head a certain way.

Winter, too, matched her companion in a pale orchid that shimmered into a hue that matched the colour of Tycho's amethyst cufflinks as she moved. The shoulder-straps were both fastened over one shoulder, the strap from the opposite melding into the first so that only a single band fanned out into the piece covering her back, leaving the one shoulder bare and flashing just a hint of cleavage above her heart. The bodice was form-fitting, but the skirt rested loosely upon her hips and hung close, the hemline just barely kissing the ground. Hidden under the fabric, flat sandals in the same colour as her dress adorned her feet, the cloth straps criss-crossed around her calves to the knees. Winter's hair was pulled back into a tight braid that rested against her spine. A single Alderaanian flower was tucked into the braided locks at the nape of her neck, adding a softness that belied her usual demeanour.

The only thing that seemed to stick out in Tycho's mind was a vaguely familiar scent that seemed to permeate the establishment.

Tycho placed the wine order for the opening round of drinks as they all perused the menu. They were seated on the fourth floor up from the bottom, at a corner table that had a stunning view outside the picture-windows that surrounded them on two sides. As the glasses of wine were set down and the bottle left in the center of the table and the waiter left them, the pilot finally put his menu down and folded his hands on top of it as he leaned forward conspiratorially. The other three peered at him over the tops of their own menus, their curiosity clearly evident.

"Something wrong?" Winter asked causally, a calculating look in her eyes as she watched her date.

Tycho shook his head. "I'm not sure. Do you all smell that?" he asked, waving his forefinger in a tiny circle in the air near his temple.

Iella raised a brow. "Yeah, it's the nerf-hide. It's still kinda fresh, this place being new and all."

Tycho shook his head again. "No, no. It's not that. It's _under_that. It's...elusive."

Wedge cocked his head to one side. After a moment, he nodded. "Tycho's right. It's faint, but it's definitely there. It's...damn, it _is_vaguely familiar."

The boys lapsed into silence as the girls exchanged looks and rolled their eyes. When the waiter returned, they placed their orders and then moved onto other topics of conversation, the whole discussion about odours seemingly forgotten...

* * *

><p>Myn Donos couldn't believe what he was hearing. He watched Tycho and Wedge as they sat across from him in the mess hall, each fingering the glasses of fruit fizz they were hunched over. He had no idea that asking either man about that new upper-class restaurant would result in the story they were telling him.<p>

"Okay, let me get this straight," Myn said, propping himself up on the table with his forearms. "You guys managed to get into the most prestigious restaurant this season, only to find out afterwards that their specialty is _braised tauntaun_?"

"Yep," Tycho replied. "See, that underlying odour was so dang familiar because I knew what it smelled like with a lot more burnt overtones."

Wedge's cheeks coloured slightly at that and Myn raised a brow. "One night," Wedge explained, "while we were stationed on Hoth, Wes dared me that I couldn't make tauntaun meat palatable. I was a little too eager to prove him wrong and, well..." he trailed off.

"...It was disastrous," Tycho finished.

"Huh," Myn intoned, sitting back in his seat. He looked thoughtful as he crossed his arms over his chest. "So I shouldn't be trying to snag reservations to this place for mine and Lara's anniversary, then?"

Tycho shook his head and stood up, and Wedge followed suit. "Nope. Because no matter how you skin it, season it or char it? Tauntaun meat is unsalvageable."

"Believe us; it takes a pilot to know," Wedge added.

Tycho waited for his CO to get a few steps ahead of him before leaning down to quietly say, "You really want tauntaun, get Wedge to cook it for you. It'll cost you less and still taste just as bad."

Myn smirked as Tycho winked at him and headed off, Wedge's indignant _"Hey!"_carrying back to him as the two senior officers left the mess hall. Myn had a feeling that Tycho was in for some serious kitchen duty for his parting remark.

Getting up from the table, Myn decided to go find Wes. If anyone would want to get in on exploiting Tycho's punishment it would be the perpetually youthful pilot. Maybe they could make plans to holo-capture it for posterity? He only hoped that Lara wouldn't mind too much if he was a little late for their anniversary.


End file.
